


Warden Blues

by ScriptrixDraconum



Series: Steel and Roses [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Alistair wanted was someone to talk to about his feelings, and a drunk Esmé Cousland was not going to work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warden Blues

“Do you know why Duncan recruited you?” I heard Alistair ask from behind me. He was leaning on a tree trunk, looking away into the dark woods.

Smirking, I responded, “I suppose he watched me for a time? Or, heard of my accomplishments in combat.”

“He said you were adventurous. Good in combat yes, that is a must, of course. He thought you seemed… ‘eager to fight a bigger battle’, I believe his words were.”

I laughed. “That’s a nice way of putting ‘does not care for an easy life at court’. I never did like wearing dresses.” I scrunched my nose, and Alistair chuckled.

He turned from the woods and finally looked toward me. “He also said you were stubborn.”

“Hmph. My parents would agree.”

Alistair lowered himself to the ground next to a resting Potato. He stretched out his legs before him, leaned back, and gazed up at the stars. “I wasn’t angry that you let yourself get drunk, by the way. You have that right, particularly in Orzammar. If anywhere is safe to let one’s guard down… it’s there. And, anyway, I’m not in charge. I suppose no one is.”

“You have seniority over me,” I reminded him, “in the Wardens.”

“Sure,” he frowned a bit, pondering, “but, that doesn’t mean I _should_ lead.” He was quiet for a moment before adding, “I think Duncan saw a leader in you. You’ve been leading well so far, I think.”

“I haven’t been leading.”

“Sure you have. Just because you take advice from the others doesn’t make you not a leader. It just makes you smart.”

I dismissed the compliment with a quick look of dissent. “Did you have a point, about mentioning my recruitment?”

“Ah, no, not your recruitment exactly. I was going to say that I agree with what Duncan said about you. All of it. Particularly the stubborn bit.”

“Thanks?”

“Ha, anytime.” Alistair smiled, and looked to Potato. He offered the dog a firm belly rub. “Anyway, I, eh…,” he continued to give Potato plenty of attention while searching for whatever words he was missing. “That night in Orzammar, I was upset. I suppose I could even call it distraught. We had nearly been crushed by golems, and all I could think about… was Duncan. And, you know, the ‘broodmother’.” He shivered. “And then, I _kept_ thinking about Duncan and how he died at the hand of darkspawn….” He looked down at his feet. “Anyway, I needed someone to talk to, that’s all. That’s why I was upset. You’re really my only option for ‘hey do you get the Warden blues too?’ sort of thing.”

I didn’t have any good reply to Alistair’s confession. His sincerity surprised me, though it shouldn’t have. He had already comforted me the night I had a particularly bad nightmare. But, I understood. Though most people in our party were easy to talk to, none of them truly understood the emotions, thoughts, and physical trials Alistair and I were both facing and would face until our last days.

I hung my head, feeling somewhat ashamed. I should have guessed that this was the reason Alistair was growing increasingly upset. He never allowed himself to grieve properly. Perhaps tonight was a good time for mutual consolation – for Alistair to say what was on his mind about Duncan, and for me, to finally talk to someone about what happened to my family.

Alistair lay back on the grass, and Potato repositioned himself to lie alongside him. I stood and walked over to them, laying down beside Alistair and joining in his stargazing.

“Do you think we’ll need handkerchiefs for this?” I asked, half-joking. I turned to see Alistair giving me an odd look, but he was soon smiling again.

“Nah. There’s no crying in the Grey Wardens!” was his answer, perhaps not actually joking. “Just a lot of grunting, spitting, cursing, and aggressively sarcastic jokes.”

“Hey, you said it, not me.”

“What does that mean?”

“So, Duncan, then,” I course-corrected. “And feelings.”

“Are you suggesting an all-out sob fest in which I’ll end up hugging a pillow?”

I shrugged. “You can always hug Potato.”

I heard a faint woof of approval.

The man sighed heavily. “Alright. But you need to open up, too. I know grief when I see it.”

I turned, propping myself on an elbow. Offering Alistair a soft, encouraging smile, I replied, “Deal.”


End file.
